


Stuck In The Veil

by Godspeed_Cowboy



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Disability, Disabled Character, Implied Past Life, Injury, Inspirational Speeches, Kankri Vantas-centric, Kankri doesn't know how to deal with it so he just, Kankri is in for a ride, Kankri thinks it's normal to see shit on the daily, Kurloz wants answers, Might add more chapters, Muteness, Neurological Disorders, POV Kankri Vantas, Secrets, Seizures, Self-Indulgent, Sick Character, Sign Language, Slavery, Speeches, The trolls don't know about the ancestors, Threats, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, Visions, Visions in dreams, and I am unapologetic of it, but vague ones, editing as I go so if you see a typo or somethin i'm prolly fixin it as you read, for the sake of this fic, goes hermit mode when it happens, he's a bit creepy and dickish about it but he means well, hiding secrets, implied slavery, in which I completely disregard all canon and create my own, it is in fact not, look me in the eyes and tell me that all the trolls are neurotypical, lowkey religious shit, slighlty intense first chapter, technically alternate realities, this is written bad but oh well, this whole thing is just completely self-indulgent, you cannot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Godspeed_Cowboy/pseuds/Godspeed_Cowboy
Summary: It is known that The Signless had visions of peace, of a new world.So it is only fair that Kankri Vantas has visions of the old one.
Relationships: Meulin Leijon & Kurloz Makara, Mituna Captor/Latula Pyrope
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31





	1. Mother Mother

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on a Homestuck kick right now and I like to write about my kins, so I'm writing about my boy Kankri.

You find yourself plagued by visions more recently these days.

You do not have a problem with having visions, you are Kankri Vantas after all, and having visions is the norm for you.

What you have a problem with is what’s in the visions and how often they happen.

Normally, they would happen in your sleep every few weeks, maybe every few months, and you would see alternative timelines. Alternative ones, yes, but they were just as peaceful as the one you lived in now. 

For the past three weeks, you have had visions whenever. During your sleep, during the day, and that scared you at first but you got used to it quickly. You learned to adapt. And so did those around you, growing used to your strange pauses and bouts of silence that would sometimes last for hours, used to how you’d snap out of your trance with a gasp and how quickly you would compose yourself after.

They thought it was just you being the same, weird Kankri. And they liked it when you stopped talking, long enough for them to interrupt or run away.

And then the visions began to change. Slowly, they turned away from the peaceful lives of the other yous. Slowly, they turned towards one individual.

One individual who you always see _die_.

_Graphically_.

And always, you look through his eyes, and experience his pain. You never see his face, but your blood is the same shade, and that is the only connection you can make between you two.

You wish you had trigger warnings before you saw them, it’s your brain after all and trigger warnings are something you're good at delivering.

And yet you always see bloodshed. You see it over and over again, like a scratched record on repeat.

Today, you were sitting under a tree when it happened again, and you had sighed as you resigned yourself to fate once more.

Only this time, your vision is different.

This time, when you open your eyes, you are a tall woman clad in jade (a rainbow drinker possibly?) whose heals click against dusty stone slabs, traversing through a dark tunnel with a bundle in your arms that squirms and chirps (a grub?).

You walk with intent as your long dress sways with you steps. The clicking of your heals and the chirps and chirs are the only sounds and sensations for some time. 

And then you emerge from the ground, out into the light. 

The sun, you realize, it’s _the sun_.

But you are a jade blood here, and the sun will not hurt you like it will hurt the grub, who’s still hidden beneath the fabric.

When you emerge, there are others waiting for you. 

Figures clad in protective armour that shines blue under the light. 

_Imperial guards_ , your mind supplies. You have never seen imperial guards before, you didn’t even know such a thing existed, but this jade blooded you seems to know exactly who they are and who they work for.

“Under the order of Her Imperious Condescension, we ask that you cooperate and hand over the mutant. Resistance shall be met with immediate execution.”

A _mutant_? But that-that would make it a-

You hold the bundle closer to your chest. You are not in control of the body. You are merely living something that has either already passed or has yet to pass at all.

And this jade blooded you knows that someone had told on you. Someone had snitched and you did not like it.

The movement does not go unnoticed. The leader of the guards glares at you, huffs.

“Very well, then.”

The guards move, battle ready positions.

You turn around and place the bundle down in the shade of the entrance, and when it wiggles and trills, you shush it, pap it.

“Stay put, little one, I will return” you say, your voice melodic, deep. 

It reminds you of someone, but who?

The bundle chirps again, but it does not move. Good.

You turn back around. The guards are tense.

You make the first move.

Running towards them as fast as you can, the leader is the first to go.

You tear away the armor from his ill-guarded neck and watch as the sun's light causes it to instantly blister. The guard screams in pain.

And you sink your teeth right into his neck. The taste of blood floods your mouth, and you can see that it’s blue, a bright, sky colored blue. Beautiful and delicious.

And from then on, there is nothing but burned flesh and pierced necks.

In the end, you come out on top, and your body is painted in shades of blue and even some purples, and the color of your own green blood melts in with them from the wounds you had sustained. 

You stumble towards the entrance of the tunnel once more, and you pick up the bundle before turning back around and trudging through the corpses. 

You keep limping for who knows how long until you make it to some form of treeline, and you hurry into its shade.

You look down at the bundle in your arms, and you move the cloth out of the way to look at it.

A sleeping, small, candy red grub that’s purring is what you see. You swipe your thumb over its face in wonder, leaving a streak of blue. It’s still very young, its horns not yet grown and its hair still growing in. The grub’s eyes open, big and red like the rest of it. They look at you with curiosity.

“Hello, little one,” you whisper, and a drop of green lands on its forehead, dripping down and leaving a trail, adding to the blue.

The vision ends, and when you come to, when you are once again Kankri, it is night time, and your breath is heaving.

You swallow and you push the vision back into your mind, trying to forget it.

It’s the first time you were the one who was killing instead of being killed. You don’t like it.

You get up, and you walk away from the tree and back to your home. You are glad that you do not see anyone on the way.

Four weeks go by, and you keep having visions of what you dub the Jade Blooded Mother. You never see her face, just like you never see the faces of anyone else in the visions, but you always look through her eyes and experience bits and pieces of her life. And you learn to get used to it.

Sometimes, you see her loving others in that motherly way of hers, caring for her red blooded child, and then later on caring for more, an olive one and a mustard yellow one soon following. And the numbers keep on growing and she keeps on caring. When you have these visions, your heart feels warm, and your mood is lifted exponentially for the day or night. You haven’t had visions like these before, and they are a wonderfully pleasant surprise. You hope they never stop.

Sometimes, you see her sad, grieving, crying for those who have fallen and those she has lost. Always, they are sad and painful, emotionally speaking. Occasionally, you get to see why she is crying, and it is never pleasant to see dead bodies in your lap, especially when you can’t look away. You don’t like them but they are not the worst. When you have these visions, you come out crying, and it feels like you’re crying with her, so you let those tears fall. Well, only in your home. You make it a point to never cry outside, where others might see. 

The last thing you want is Cronus popping up and making fun of you.

And sometimes . . . Sometimes you see more of that violence that you saw in the first vision. Those ones you hate. They make you go quiet, shaking, mind buzzing, and you hate it. Because it’s all you can think about for the rest of the day. When those happen, you put yourself back together, and hold everything inside until you get home, because you don’t want _anyone_ to see that, and you mean it. So you board yourself up like some hermit and stay inside until the next day comes.

Right now, you're sitting up from your recuperacoon, having just awoken from one of those violent visions.

You sigh as you rub sopor slime off your face. No use in going back to sleep.

You pull yourself out and you get ready for the day.

When you walk outside, you take a deep breath and steel yourself. Perhaps you could corner someone and lecture them to take your mind off it. 

You walk out into the void of dream bubbles and begin your day. 

For the most part, you have a normal day. You do manage to corner Rufioh and lecture him on the safety of flying and not paying attention to his surroundings for a good three hours before you let him go. And watch him bang his horns into a random powerline pole directly afterwards. He's definitely going to go complain to Horuss about that one. Cronus annoys you sometime later before you manage to annoy him back by simply speaking, and he leaves you alone, most likely to harass Mituna and Kurloz or maybe Damara. Or Meenah. Mituna or Meenah seem more likely.

You do get hit with a vision or two, once again of the Jade Blooded Mother. But they are the good ones, the ones that put you in a good mood. You run into Aranea, who asks you why you’re smiling, but you just shake your head and wave her off, telling her that it’s a nice day out and that’s why. She believes you, and she smiles with you, leaving you to your devices.

Aranea was always the most pleasant conversation partner out of everyone here. Sometimes, if she was in the right mood, she would participate in your lectures, and you would go back and forth for hours on end. 

You were happy that she at least tolerated you better than others. It was not that you hated yourself, you were ok for the most part, but the hate from some others was practically palpable while others were too awkwardly nice and stiff, and some just simply ignored you. It could get tiring, and you didn’t want to be in a sour mood nor did you want to put anyone in one when it wasn’t necessary. You were a bit of a dick, that you understood, but at least you were self-aware and willing to learn and hear others out.

So Aranea was always a delight to be around, thank Gog.

And now, you sit to the side, watching Latula and Mituna skate together in a random piece of skate park that showed up just as randomly (as things usually do around here), Kurloz a bit aways from you, talking with Meulin. 

The sound of wheels against the concrete is grounding as you look at the sky.

So of course things go wrong.

You're sucked into another vision, and this time.

This time you see your face.

You don’t see it right away, no, but you do see it.

It starts with you as the Jade Blooded Mother again, but this time you are covered in a _rainbow_ of colors, your dress torn, broken chains around your wrists and ankles. Beneath you, corpses off all castes. There is a lot of screaming (GET HER UNDER CONTROL, STOP HER, SHE’S GONE MAD, OH MY GOG, HELP, RUN, RETREAT), and it scares you, but not the Jade Blooded Mother. Never the Jade Blooded Mother.

The Jade Blooded Mother is fearless in the face of anything.

You stumble forward, snarling, filled with righteous fury that surprises even you. And the other trolls run away from you. You keep walking forward until you come to a stop in front of a stone with broken chains that sway.

Under it is a crumpled body with burnt wrists and cooling shackles.

And then you latch onto that body. 

You know this body. You, as Kankri, _know this body_.

You’ve been in it before.

You are crying, opaque green tears falling onto cooled grey skin, and you can’t stop crying.

You still can’t see his face.

“My child,” you howl, “my child!”

His blood smears against you, and your stomach rolls when the sweet scent of it flits into your nose, but you do not feel any urge to drink it like you drank those who had hurt him. All you feel is shame, shame that you think it smells good, shame that you would even think that, and shame that you want to taste it. 

You hold yourself back, and you keep on crying.

And then it changes, and this has never happened before, never in the middle of a vision.

But it takes you a moment to realize that it hasn’t changed. It hasn’t changed at all.

It simply shifted perspectives.

Now you look at the woman who calls herself your mother. You look at her with dead, black eyes as she clings to your ragdoll body and grieves.

And you _see her face_.

It takes a moment to register, but she looks like _Porrim_. Older, yes. Without piercings and tattoos, yes. Without her white eyes and simple dress, yes. Crying a river on you, yes. But it’s still very much _Porrim_ , in a way that only Porrim could be.

And the vision ends.

When you come to, your body feels cold, your hands shaking, ears ringing, and there’s spit dripping from your open mouth. Your stomach lurches uncomfortably. Your vision is a bit blurry.

You feel _sick_.

Someone’s crouched next to you, snapping their fingers in your face and talking loudly in your ear.

“Kankri? Kankri?”

Ah. It’s Meulin.

You turn your head to look at her and your vision swims, everything dizzy, but you hold out.

She’s looking at you, worried. Kurloz hovers over her, his expression carefully blank, but his eyes observant as ever as they watch you.

Latula and Mituna have stopped skating, standing a bit aways from you, looking up at you. Latula has her brows raided and Mituna is fidgeting.

You look back at Meulin. She stops snapping her fingers.

“Kankri? You back with us?”

Slowly you nod, “. . . Yes . . . I am . . . Somewhat. What. What happened?”

She starts talking, “Well, Purrloz noticed you were twitching, so I tried to yell at you from o-fur there and ask what you were doing, but you didn’t respond so we got worried! And when we came to you, your were all-” she rolls her eyes in the back of her head as she hunches over and opens her mouth, and the look reminds you of a dead fish, “-so we got a bit _more_ worried and-”

You don’t hear the rest of her sentence because you put a hand over her mouth and interrupt her. The ringing in your ears is loud and you feel sweaty. Meulin looks shocked that you just interrupted her _and_ touched her, and so does everyone else.

You swallow, speak, sweating more, “I feel _awful_ . . . Apologies.” 

And that’s the last thing you say before you promptly slip over the edge you're sitting on and fall down into the skating pit, your body beginning to spasm uncontrollably.

When you land, your head bangs itself hard against the ground and the spasms get worse.

Oh, you think, you’re having a seizure.

It’s your last thought before you black out entirely, and the last thing you see is people running towards you, their yelling muffled by the still-loud ringing. 

When you come to, you still feel awful, but at least you can actually hear and see. You’re on your side, and there's people around you.

“He’s wakin’ up!”

“Oh, thank gog, I thought he died again!”

You groan and try to sit up. It’s hard, but you manage. Your head hurts and your joints ache, but hey, what can you expect.

Your sight clears up and you can see who’s around you now.

It’s still Meulin, Kurloz Latula, and Mituna, and you’re a bit thankful for that, that no one else saw what happened.

Latula is crouched next to you, hovering uncertainty, like she wants to do something but doesn’t know what she should do. Her efforts are appreciated by you.

Meulin is behind you, also crouched, but like a cat would sit, hands resting on the ground between her legs. Her head’s tilted, and you can see a thousand questions in her white eyes. But, thankfully, she stays quiet, letting you gather your bearings.

Kurloz is once again hovering over, but there’s a pinch around his eyes and his lips are turned down slightly. And that usually means he’s either concerned, confused, or some mix of both.

Mituna stands next to him, helmet off, scratching at his head, his curls bouncing as he once again begins to fidget, bouncing his weight from leg to leg. He’s worried, but seems a bit calmer seeing you awake. He also has questions, most likely.

Latula speaks up, mindful of your aversion to touch. 

“Kank, dude, you good? Took a nasty fall there after . . . _that_ , and you sounded like you banged your head pretty hard. I’m surprised a horn didn’t break off!”

You shake your head, reach up to where you hit it, and it does hurt, but at least it’s on the outside.

“I am alright, thank you for your concern.”

“You sure, dude?”

“Yes. It’s nothing.”

“. . . Has that. Happened before?”

You decide to be truthful, “No.”

“Do you know _why_ it happened?”

. . . You decide to lie, a sort of half truth because it’s just a speculation of why it happened but hey, “No.”

At that Kurloz squints at you, perceptive as ever, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s either unsure if you are lying or he doesn’t have proof to call you out.

Latula clears her throat, “Well, uh, be careful for today, yeah? Me an’ ‘Tuna are gonna head off. You sure you’re gonna be alright?”

“Yes,” you assure her, “I will be alright. I think I’m going to go home, however, I do feel a bit tired after all of this.”

She nods, “‘Kay. ‘Tuna, let’s go!”

The two of them hurry off quickly, and you’re pretty sure you hear Mituna asking Latula with that lisp of his if you’re really ok because “he isn’t talking as much and didn't tell you off when you said "Kank".”

Kurloz and Meulin leave a bit after the latter stubbornly fusses over you for a minute or two, and when they leave, Kurloz is still giving you the stink eye.

As soon as they are out of sight, you book it home, running all the way, thankful that you don’t run into anyone, and when you arrive, you hole up as usual and don’t leave our recuperacoon for a good while. You'll have to get new slime for it soon, because you can't keep crying into it and making it dirty

(You negate that fact that you successfully avoid Porrim for a week after the vision before she hunts you down and checks in with you before leaving you be. And you grow suspicious when, during that week, you have no visions at all.)


	2. Of Confrontations and Unrelated Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kurloz is nosy and new things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taadaa

It’s been about a week and three days, Porrim having visited you two days ago, and you feel much better, if not a little weary and wary. 

In that week, you had what might have been close to a “cold”, but a bit more intense. Headaches, excessive body heat even for you, senses in overdrive, and plenty of lost bodily fluids. All before you started to feel better. 

You still need to blow into a tissue every now and again or cut yourself off with a cough or two, or take a breather for a few if your head or throat hurts, but for the most part, you’re in working condition once more.

But you’re not sure if that really means anything when the visions have stopped coming. 

At the moment, you’re holed up in your home again, though this time it is out of safety precautions rather than panic. You don’t want to spread your possible sickness around to any other troll, because if you’re susceptible to this almost-but-not-quite-cold then so are the others. So some self-quarantine is the best way to go. 

You’ve kept yourself busy in the meantime. Read books in the first half when you had felt like dying a second time, and when you felt better you had cleaned the whole house, top to bottom and side to side, every which way until you were sure that every nook and cranny smelled like bleach. And now that you’re in the finishing end and feeling more like yourself again, you decide to busy yourself with trying to figure out how you got sick in the first place, when it should not be physically possible.

Right now, you’re sitting at your kitchen table, tapping a pen against the wood as you thread your free hand into your hair, staring down at the little yellow notepad you found tucked away in the drawers. It’s already a crossed out mess, and it annoys you that you can’t figure anything out. 

You know that it definitely had something to do with the seizure (which should also not be possible) and the visions, but _why_? Why did you have a seizure at all? And why get sick after such a thing? And why after such a vision? And why no more after that?

It irks you. You don’t like that it irks you. You sincerely wish that you could figure it out, but as it is, all you know is that somehow, your seizure, your visions and your lack of therefor, and your sickness are all the clues you have for now.

You set the pen down and thread your other hand into your hair with the other.

My, oh my, what a problem that you have. 

Suddenly, a knock at your door. You lift your head. 

You do not get visitors often. Mostly just Porrim, Cronus (if he wants to bother you), and Aranea (if she wants to debate you). So perhaps it is one of them?

More knocking.

You slip your sweater over your head (you don’t wear it when you're alone, especially when Porrim isn’t around), and set everything back in its place before you head to the door.

You find yourself quite surprised when you answer because it’s one of the people you least expect. 

There stands Kurloz, in all his tall, lanky, silent glory.

He starts to sign to you.

_What’s up, my red blooded brother?_

You sign back (the only reason you know ASL is because you wanted to lecture Kurloz as well (you also gave up on trying to get him to stop calling you “red blooded brother” and all such variants he creatively came up with)).

_Hello, Kurloz. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?_

_Just wanted to check in and see what you was gettin' on up to. Feelin' any better?_

_Oh, thank you. I haven’t been doing much besides taking it rather easy_ (another lie because you don’t feel the need to tell him what you’re doing, and you’re suspicious right now) _. But yes, I feel a lot better now._

_Miraculous. Now, how ‘bout you offer a brother a comfy-ass seat, yeah?_

His way of asking if he can come in.

 _Oh, sure, sorry_ (you’re _very_ suspicious now) _._

You move out of his way, opening the door wider, and he has to duck down to get in.

Well, at least he’s courteous enough to be mindful about keeping his horns from poking holes in the ceiling.

He turns to you, starts signing again.

_Looks sparklier than Barbie’s Diamond Castle up in this bitch. Thought you was takin’ things motherfuckin’ easy?_

You wave a hand and reply.

_I just cleaned a bit. I needed to keep myself busy somehow, so when I felt better, I did some spring cleaning._

_Smells more than just a bit of spring cleanin’, brother._

Ah, he smelled the bleach from the products. You wave him off again.

_Nothing to worry about, I assure you._

Kurloz shrugs and continues to make himself at home, proceeding to flop down noisily on your couch, hunched over, his elbows resting on his legs for support as his fingers splay against each other. You sniffle, unsure. You’ve never had him over before, and you’re a bit intimidated by him and afraid you’ll say something to trigger him. But there is no time to dwell, for you have a guest to host.

The mime takes his time looking around from where he sits before he addresses you again.

_Looks real nice ‘round here, brother. Kinda reminds me of an old lady’s house, got the frilly yellow couch, fancy-ass wall plates, old lady smell, all that shit. All's that’s missin’ is meowbeast hair. I dig it. Sweet as hell. Feelin’ welcomed already._

A backhanded compliment. You take it anyways.

_Thank you. Glad you like it. Is there anything I can get you? Drink? Snack?_

_Nah, but thanks, man, real polite of you. Now . . ._ , he pauses, sits up straighter, and looks at you, _why don’t you have a seat with me? I wanna talk with you._

You want to huff at being ordered around in your own home, but you don’t. Instead, you take a seat as asked.

You start the conversation.

_So, what is it that you wanted to talk to me about, Kurloz?_

_Just a question is all, brother, just a question._

_And that would be?_

He sprawls himself out, limbs spread and relax, an arm behind you resting on the back of the couch. You tense. Is he trying to intimidate you or something? 

He looks you in the eyes as he starts to sign again.

_What was you hiddin’ from us, brother? Back at the skatepark, what was it? You’re all up and secretive as fuck suddenly, more than a motherfuckin’ dealer, so what’s up with that?_

You look away, and fumble for a minute. You settle on one word.

 _Elaborate_ , you pause, then add, _please._

He tilts his head, _Back when we was askin’ what was up and Skater Girl asked if you was ok. You lied. Why?_

You gulp, _I don’t know what you mean. I was entirely truthful._

He leans in close, and you don’t like that.

_We may not know each other well, but you and I both know that you’re a bad liar, Kan-kr-i._

He signs your name particularly slow and uses proper grammar. Ah. He means business if he’s using your name and abandoning his typical speech.

You frown, _What does it matter to you? I do not have to explain myself, Kurloz, my health is my own private matters._

_Because what happened to you. Was not. Normal._

_Alright, so what of it? I am aware it was a bit strange for me to have a seizure-_

He interrupts, _More than a bit._

_-Rude, anyways, as I was saying. While it was a bit strange for me to have a seizure, and become quite sick after it, I have no idea how that concerns you, or anyone else for that matter._

_You know what caused it, don’t you, Kankri?_

You pause, then start, and go slow to emphasize just as he did, _No, I don’t._

_Mhm. Sure. Now why ain’t you bein’ honest with me, motherfucker?_

_One, I am being honest. Two, it. Does not. Concern you._

He stares at you for a short while, before he pulls back and smiles lazy, standing up.

_Well, Imma head out then. Nice visitin’ you, brother, good to see you, yeah? Stay healthy, man._

He claps you on the shoulder as he walks away, and then pauses at the door, turning around and still smiling.

_I’ll get my answers out of you one way or another, motherfucker._

And then just like that, he’s gone. Like nothing ever happened. Like he didn’t just impose himself and vaguely threaten you. You shiver.

You decide that Kurloz will not be allowed back in your home without someone either being here already or someone accompanying him.

Five days go by after Kurloz’s visit. You find yourself healthy as ever about three days into those five, and you’re finally able to go back out into the world and dish out lectures for hours once more.

In those last two days, everything is normal.

On the sixth day, things once again turn for the worst. Or so you thought.

It happens to you while you’re sleeping.

You get another vision. After nearly two weeks of _nothing_ , you get another vision.

This time, you are an older troll who works in the fields. You're dressed in rough, ragged, yellow clothes, a simple uniform, and you wield a small scythe, tearing plants from their stems, and there are others around you who do the same, who are dressed the same, some even in different colors.

 _Tedious work_ , you think, _tedious work for someone like me. Hate this damn collar, keeps my powers in check_ too _much._

This goes on for quite a bit, this work and this thought process, and then something happens.

A troll in a cloak appears in the distance, backed by the setting sun, and their hood shrouds their face, the rest of their cloak hiding their body.

In the darkness, all you can see is the glow of red eyes as they come closer and closer still.

Next to them, a woman in a green suit, following at his side with a book and quill in her hands. Her face is shadowed by her hair, and from her eyes, a green glow.

It’s something eerie.

Curiosity gets the better of you, just as it gets a hold of the others, and you all gather around to see what these figures are up to. 

You don’t see the trolls’ face, even if you are one of the closest.

And the taller, cloaked troll begins to speak, preach almost. A guy, you think, and this guy has an awful lot to say.

“Fellow trolls, gather closely now. For I have come to deliver unto you the message of peace which was foretold to me many moons ago. I welcome you all to my sermon with open arms.”

The woman begins to write in her book.

“For sweeps, you all have been held down by those who deem themselves the “highbloods” of our society. We have been lost to the flow, the push and pull of the caste system and fallen to those who continue to uphold it. To not take action against such things would be to bend to their wills and continue to suffer as you do. But fear not, for not all hope is lost, and I am here to tell you such. I have seen a world that exists without this system, without this oppression and the oppressors.

“I had once lived in it. I came from a world where hate was earned rightfully by those who had well and truly wronged you, where lowbloods entered quadrants with highbloods and visa versa, where peace truly existed. No needless slaughter or wars. No caste system to uphold. No enemies in sight except for the ones you make. And I am here to tell you that it is possible, this peace, and that we, too, can be as peaceful as they were. As we all once were.”

He keeps going and going, and he seems confident that no blue blooded guard will sweep him and his little writer off their feet.

Eventually, though, his speech does come to an ending point, the final little rant.

“I believe in such a world, free of these unlawful crimes, and I believe that you all can, too. Join me, my fellow Alternians, my brothers and sisters and all others, join me on this righteous path and believe, and hope, with me. For we are the change, the protests and riots, and we will not stop until true peace is earned, achieved, _won_.”

And so his speech ends. 

And you can’t help but feel both touched and amused.

You like this guy, he’s got a whole lot of courage for someone who wears such a distained color on his too-high leggings (oh it’s him again, that certain individual).

You’re the first to step forward. You hold your hand out to him and smile.

“Nice sermon, red stranger, you’ve piqued my interest,” you say, lisp heavy.

You are somehow able to tell that he’s smiling back, and he wraps his hand around your forearm as you do the same. 

A common handshake to show allegiance on Alternia.

“Welcome to the revolution, my yellow blooded brother,” he says, kindness and warmth laced into every word, nothing short of familial already.

You open your eyes, once again Kankri, slightly winded and a bit teary eyed, but also . . . Confused? Possibly?

A strange vision, you think, considering the absence of violence. You aren’t complaining, but it’s unusual to have such things right off the bat. It makes you feel uneasy, but then again, it was nice for a change of pace, even if said change was a good few perigees too late. 

But that’s fine, you suppose, better now than never. 

You sit up from the recuperacoon and, in a change of pace, think about your vision as you go about getting ready.

It perplexes you, but not in such a way that it makes you angry. Rather, you are intrigued. Very intrigued.

Throughout the day, your mind plays “yellow blooded brother” and “red blooded brother” on loop nonstop until it’s practically a mantra.

You forget about Kurloz, ironically, and you keep thinking about that vision instead.

You don’t know why.

And that irks you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a slight joke here, ASL stands for Alternian Sign Language when trolls reference it lmao

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what y'all thought lmao


End file.
